


Table For One

by DownOnThePharm



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Fluff, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, domestic silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownOnThePharm/pseuds/DownOnThePharm
Summary: Rimmer has crashed in an inconvenient spot.  Lister has to improvise.





	Table For One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedDwarfIsALesbian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDwarfIsALesbian/gifts).



> Inspired by adorable fanart by RedDwarfIsALesbian. *blows a kiss*
> 
> <https://reddwarfisalesbian.tumblr.com/post/185717452977/i-mean-i-suppose-balancing-a-curry-on-your>

It was unusual for Rimmer to fall asleep in Lister’s bunk, as he generally avoided, as he put it, “toxic waste tips unfit for human or hologram habitation.” Today had been stressful, however, starting with an allegedly mistimed wakeup call from Kryten at 3 AM, and ending with a skirmish at the GELF produce market (how were they to know that, in this region, _Kaarkakakakargh_ meant “go mate with your mother’s ear” instead of “I’d like a pound of those berries, please?”). So, an exhausted Rimmer now slept with his head pillowed on Lister’s thigh, dead to the world, or so to speak. Lister normally wouldn’t have minded, but he’d just fetched a fresh curry, and he was hungry.

He gently nudged Rimmer. “Rimmer? Wake up, man. I need me leg free so’s I can eat.”

“Hngh,” Rimmer mumbled, and snored on. 

“C’mon - move over!” Lister shoved him a bit harder.

“Snnnrghx.”

“Move, y’smegger!” Lister tried to pull his leg free, but Rimmer clamped one hand down on it, effectively pinning him in place with hard-light strength. 

Sighing in irritation, Lister looked around for somewhere to balance his snack. There really wasn’t much in the way of an elevated place close at hand - or was there?

He eyed Rimmer’s head appraisingly.

“Hmm. Your head is mostly flat, smeghead, and just about the right size. What am I thinking, though? I can’t use your face as a table. Move!”

Rimmer didn’t even respond to being pinched. The curry was cooling, and Lister really was hungry. He looked at his slumbering bunkmate for a long moment, and then, shrugging, opened his takeaway container, balanced it carefully on Rimmer’s head, and dug in.

The next morning, Rimmer couldn’t for the death of him figure out how he’d managed to get chicken in his hair.


End file.
